


and i crash (and i break down)

by magpieCastiel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpieCastiel/pseuds/magpieCastiel
Summary: When Shiro falls to the dark side, the Order is ready to abandon him to his demons. Keith isn’t.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 55





	and i crash (and i break down)

**Author's Note:**

> it’s been a while since i’ve thought about sheith!! honestly after s8 i wasn’t even able to rewatch earlier seasons, the memory was so tainted…….but i’m ready to get back in the game and the [Sheith May 4th Event](https://twitter.com/StarWarsSheith) on twitter seemed like the perfect opportunity! so here, have a star wars au, set during the clone wars era :3c
> 
> (title: _[human - christina perri](https://open.spotify.com/track/1x80xTzSL7pok3M5JC3oJ)_ )

Keith slips out of the cockpit of his transport into a torrent of freezing rain. Cold soaks through his robes, chills his skin and plasters long strands of inky black hair to his face. He curls tighter around himself, buffeted by rain and howling winds as he stares at the tower reaching up into the stormclouds above.

He’s not supposed to be here. The Order’s forbidden him from this chase. They don’t trust him to remain impartial, to not let his feelings—his _attachments_ —cloud his judgement.

The air is cold and bitter when Keith heaves in a breath, chest tight to the point of pain. His heart’s hammering, hands shaking, spine trembling. 

The Order is right. Maybe the Order has always been right about him. That isn’t going to stop Keith from doing what needs to be done. All throughout his training, the Order was convinced he could never be a Jedi; too brash, too bold, too emotional. There was only ever one person who believed in Keith the whole way. Only one person who thought he could be the Knight he is now. He’s not just going to let that go without a fight.

One hand tugging his hood over his face, the other resting on the hilt of his lightsaber, Keith starts towards the tower. It’s an intimidating claw of shining black metal against a grey-violet sky. At his sides, massive ocean waves crash against the rain-slick walkway, saltwater spray colliding with the sheets of rain.

Keith’s never been poetic. But there’s something fitting about this, marching through a downpour, violent waves on either side, lightning flashing across the clouds.

He grips his saber a little tighter. Grooves of metal dig into his palm.

“Master,” he says, quiet and torn through his teeth. He barely hears himself over the rain.

When Keith found this rumour, followed its leads, he didn’t know if it’d turn up anything substantial. Didn’t know if he’d come up empty-handed for the dozenth time. But as he approaches the tower, arches his neck back to get a glimpse of the top, there’s something flickering at the edge of his mind. Some tiny piece of awareness that Keith hasn’t felt in months, but that he’d recognize from across the galaxy.

His heart thuds heavy against his ribcage. Keith swallows.

There’s no visible entrance to the tower. The walls are smooth black metal, humming with a faint heat when Keith splays his gloved palms on the surface. Keith drags his fingertips over the faint grooves, following a path of footsteps in the muddy stone at the base of the tower, nearly washed away in the rain.

Eventually, about halfway around, the footsteps lead to a door. It gapes like an open mouth, rain sweeping into the dark hallway inside. Like whoever opened it wasn’t worried about being followed.

Keith’s not sure if it’s because he didn’t think anyone was following him, or if he just didn’t _care_. He’s not sure of much anymore when it comes to his former Master.

He steps inside, out of the rain and wind, but the chill doesn’t leave him. Inside the tower is dark, barely lit by tiny white lights embedded along the bottom of the walls. Makes sense; nobody’s supposed to be inside this tower unless it’s for emergency maintenance. If this tower ever stopped functioning, the Republic settlement on the other hemisphere would be swept away in catastrophic storms.

Slowly, Keith curls his fingers around his saber, unclipping it from his belt, arm braced in front in a ready position. _Just as a precaution_ , he tells himself. _Just in case_.

A staircase curls up around the outside edge of the tower, strips of light on each step just barely illuminating the smooth walls. In the centre is a lift, the doors shut, the lift compartment probably at the top of the tower.

For a second, Keith thinks about sneaking up the stairs. But he set his transport down on the landing pad, right next to the one already there. He walked up the runway in full view of the tower. He’s not trying to hide.

He presses his hand to the panel next to the lift. It lights up under his touch, and far above, mechanical sounds echo through the otherwise silent tower. Rain drums against the outside of the tower as Keith waits for the lift, jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt, heartbeat thrumming in the back of his throat. 

Eventually the doors open, revealing a cylinder barely twice as wide across as Keith’s narrow shoulders. He breathes in harshly through his nose, panic spiking somewhere distant at the back of his mind as he steps into the tiny space. Then the door slides shut with barely a hiss, Keith’s shaking fingers press the button to go up, and the floor beneath him hums as it slowly brings him to the top of the tower.

He’s light-headed. Panting. Cold water drips down the slope of his nose, over his jaw, a sharp contrast to the warm sweat collecting at his temples and in the hollow of his throat. Keith feels like he’s buzzing out of his skin, like his edges are pressing against the suffocatingly close walls.

All these months he’s been seeking out every lead, hunting down rumours and chasing shadows. And now…

The lift slows to a stop. Keith’s chest tightens, but he lifts his chin and pulls back his shoulders. His expression is carefully calm as he stares at the door.

Whatever’s waiting on the other side, he’s ready. He’ll face anything to bring Shiro home.

When the door slides open, the first thing Keith notices is the harsh red glow of a Sith lightsaber. It illuminates the metallic floor, the console in the centre of the room—

And Shiro.

Keith’s breath hitches. Shiro looks like a different person—and, somehow, exactly the same.

He’s still broad-shouldered and tall, still an imposing figure in black robes, but his hair is silver and there are dark shadows beneath his eyes. The red glow of his saber casts harsh light on his jawline, his nose, cutting his features into sharp clarity and making Keith’s gut twist. The scar across his nose is new. Keith remembers desperation in the swing of his saber, just trying to make Shiro get _back_ , Shiro’s mindless roar of pain as the tip dragged a line over his skin.

Jaw twitching, Keith swallows down the memory. Shiro gave him a couple scars of his own, too.

All at once the weight of the walls surrounding him is too much. Keith steps out, eyes flicking to Shiro’s silver hand as it curls tighter around his saber.

Pain clenches tight around his heart. He remembers _that_ , too. Shiro’s hand around his throat, black spots in his eyes. It was instinct. Quick and desperate, the stump cauterized by his saber. Doesn’t mean he’s been able to get Shiro’s scream out of his head.

“Keith.” Shiro murmurs his name soft and sweet, like a lover. It digs under Keith’s skin, sharp and biting as the mocking glint in Shiro’s eyes. It doesn’t sound the same. Even his eyes are different; dark gunmetal silver eclipsed by a faintly glowing gold.

_Breathe in. Breathe out_. Keith searches for an anchor, something to settle around, and finds nothing but his own wildly hammering heartbeat. “Shiro.”

“I didn’t think the Jedi would send _you_ after me,” Shiro says. His voice is a low, vicious curl around the base of Keith’s spine, his smirk crooked and cruel. “Everyone knows you’re hardly the epitome of a proper Jedi. You’re barely a Jedi at all.”

Keith feels like the floor’s been dropped from under him, scrambling for balance even as he stands still and tall. He swallows, lifts his chin a little too sharply. Still that rough-and-tumble kid trying to prove himself. “The Jedi didn’t send me,” he says, and his voice rings clear across the tower. He sounds more sure than he feels.

Shiro shrugs, one-shouldered. “I figured.” His hip is leaning against the console in the centre of the tower, and there’s something so effortlessly casual about it—so effortlessly _Shiro_ —that Keith’s heart hurts. “Even they’re smart enough to know better, I think.” 

Suddenly his gaze sharpens. It burns like brand on Keith’s skin, dragging over features Keith isn’t sure he’s keeping schooled. Shiro’s mouth twists into a smile.

“And they’re smart enough to abandon me.” His head cocks to one side. “But not you, Keith.”

The tone of his voice makes Keith shudder. “I’m never going to abandon you,” he says, quietly, convictedly, his voice a little too hoarse. A little too angry.

Shiro’s grin unfurls wider. “Of course not. You just can’t ever let go, can you?”

Keith clenches his jaw. _Never_.

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro purrs. His voice slips over the name smooth as silk, sending shivers across Keith’s skin. “You haven’t changed.” His gaze flicks down to Keith’s hand. Keith’s grip tightens. “You’re even still using the reverse grip? You know you’ll never become a Master like that.”

It isn’t the first time Keith’s heard that. It _is_ the first time he’s heard it from Shiro.

Shiro has always been many things. Proud, reckless, commanding—Keith’s entire fucking universe. But never cruel. Never condescending.

“I know you’re hurting,” Keith says, his voice barely more than a whisper, barely audible over the steady drumbeat of rain. “I—I can feel it.” It’s a whirl of emotion, rage and grief and a pain so sharp and violent Keith feels it every time he breathes.

Something on Shiro’s face shifts. Closes. “Is that what this is?” His tone is biting, mocking, but the smile on his face is hollow. “You came to try and _fix_ me?” He shakes his head, tuts like Keith’s a misbehaving child. “Even for you, Keith, that’s stupid.”

“There’s good in you.” It’s the only thing Keith’s ever been sure of.

Shiro’s face splits in a macabre grin. “Is there?”

His arm swings, red light arcing through the air. Keith shouts, leaps forward, shoots out his arm to block—

Sparks explode from the console as Shiro’s saber slices through, leaving behind molten metal and a mess of destroyed wires. The lights of the console flicker, pulse, then die.

Keith stares at his own trembling saber, the glowing green blade extended protectively across the console. A half second too late.

Wind howls outside the tower.

Horror chokes Keith’s throat. “No…”

Red flashes like a signal flare. Keith barely has enough time to bring up his arm before Shiro crashes their sabers together, a shower of golden sparks spilling between them as Shiro presses his full weight against Keith’s. They’re so close Keith can see the whites of his eyes, the sharpness of his teeth as he grins wildly down at Keith. 

Keith freezes. The heat of Shiro’s body feels like something tangible.

Then Shiro presses further and Keith catches himself. He deflects Shiro’s weight and spins away, putting a half-step of distance between them, dancing back on his toes and panting so hard his lungs ache.

“How many people live in that settlement?” Shiro’s tone is casual, but the step he takes towards Keith is menacing. Keith matches him with another step back. Careful, calculating. Searching for calm that isn’t there. “A million? Two million?”

Keith is trembling. His body’s alight with electric adrenaline, each breath a heavy drag, hairs on the back of his neck standing on head. Like standing in the middle of a lightning storm.

“This isn’t you,” he spits, shaking his head sharply. “Shiro, let me _help_ you.”

“Not just politicians and soldiers,” Shiro says. Another step forward. Another step back. “Families. _Children_.”

Bile rises in Keith’s throat. Panic presses like a vice around his chest, and he imagines stormclouds blocking out a pale violet sky, wind whipping and rain pouring down. He _hears_ their screams echo in his ears. One hand shoots up to block his ear but it only presses the sound deeper, makes it echo, over and over in Keith’s head.

“ _Stop_!” he screams, and he doesn’t know if he’s talking to Shiro or the people dying in his head. “Please, Shiro, you don’t have to do this!”

“It’s already done.” The red light makes Shiro’s wicked smile look almost bloody. “You’re too late, Keith. You’re always just a second too late.”

He leaps forward, bringing the saber down on Keith with a snarl. The strength of it rattles Keith’s arms when he blocks. Then there’s no more talking.

Shiro attacks again, and again. Precise and deadly and _brutal_. He’s a whirlwind, raining down blows on Keith, barely giving him a chance to block and deflect and dodge. Keith’s always been awed by the brutal efficiency of Shiro when he fights—now, it’s all he can do just to _keep up_.

One tiny mistake—Keith’s a half second too slow, a half step off balance—and Shiro’s twisting his lightsaber out of his grip. It flies across the room, clatters against the floor, and Shiro snarls out a grin.

Keith jumps back just as Shiro swings again. His eyes flick around the room, scanning for his saber— _there_ —but he can barely glance at it before he’s diving around another attack.

His arms already feel weak. His lungs are burning. He can’t do this forever, and Shiro looks like he’s barely gotten started.

Keith flings out his arm, calling to the Force. His saber lands solidly in his hand a second later. He ignites it and Shiro’s saber skids down its length, sparks flying and landing like pinpricks on Keith’s face. Snarling, desperate, he shoves against the impossible strength of Shiro’s form, heart skipping lightspeed-fast in his chest.

“You’ve lost your edge,” Shiro taunts. His grip shifts, and Keith’s being pressed back, off-balance and stumbling at the sudden weight. He whirls away, robes flaring around his thighs as Shiro’s laugh fills the room. They face each other, circling like deadly predators, and Shiro’s wild, familiar eyes nearly pin Keith in place. “Where’s the Keith I know? Where’s _my_ Keith?”

Keith’s breath stutters. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He _doesn’t_ want to hurt Shiro. But Shiro’s not the mindless, furious animal he was last time they fought, when Shiro lost control. Now, he’s even more deadly than he’s always been.

Shiro grins, and attacks again. He’s faster, stronger, even more vicious as he backs Keith into a wall and shoves him so hard Keith’s head cracks against metal, their lightsabers locked together. 

Chest heaving, Keith pushes uselessly against Shiro’s unrelenting strength. He’s trapped. There’s hard metal at his back and Shiro’s warmth at his front; the only thing keeping him alive is his grip on his lightsaber.

“Shiro,” he grits out, and he can hear the plea in his own voice, “ _please_.”

Laughter lights up Shiro’s golden eyes. He shoves against Keith, so close Keith can feel the heat of their sabers on his face. Then his grip shifts, right hand dropping from his saber and splaying across Keith’s chest, the grin on his face gone manic.

Electricity explodes through Keith’s ribs. He screams, knocks his head back against the wall as his saber drops, clattering uselessly to the floor. Keith follows a second later. Pain courses through his bones like aftershocks as he drops to his knees, slumping to his side, body completely limp and still jolting with electricity.

A boot lands heavy on his side. Rolls him onto his stomach. All Keith can do is wheeze through his clenched teeth.

“What a disappointment.” Shiro crouches, his robes casting a shadow over Keith’s vision. Strong hands wrench his arms behind his back, lock his wrists together in humming metal cuffs. “I was hoping you might actually give me a challenge.” 

Keith can’t speak. Can barely even breathe. His head’s still swimming.

He’s not going down this easy. He can’t. Not like this, not when Shiro needs him.

He shifts his weight, muscles screaming with every movement. Shiro only laughs.

“Don’t bother trying to escape.”

Keith tries. Of course he tries. He’s barely tugged on the cuffs when another bolt of electricity punches through him, leaving him limp and shaking.

“Told you,” Shiro croons. “They’re specially designed for Jedi. I got them from an old bounty hunter friend; seems like they’re a pretty useful tool to keep around.”

Panting, Keith shifts his hips, presses his forehead against the cold metal floor. Pain screams behind his eyes and he squeezes them shut, teeth gritted, boots scrabbling against the floor as he struggles to get his knees under him. Agony thrums through him but he pushes past it, pushes until he’s half-balanced on his knees, hair plastered to his cheeks and over his eyes with sweat and rainwater.

“ _Shiro_.” It claws out through Keith’s teeth. “This isn’t _you_. It’s—it’s the dark side—”

“No, Keith.” Blearily, Keith sees Shiro pick up his saber, clipping it to his belt. His face is out of Keith’s field of view and he can’t move his neck enough to look up. “This is who I’ve always been. The _Jedi_ were the ones who tried to make me into something I’m not.”

A grunt chokes off in Keith’s throat. He shakes his head, temple scraping against the metal floor. Whatever happened to Shiro—the anger, the fear, that fragile thing behind his eyes that he always tried to keep hidden from Keith—it’s not who he _is_. 

Muscles burning, gut clenching, Keith pulls himself up into a kneeling position. His wet hair hangs over his face, shoulders pulled awkwardly back despite his hunching back.

His breath comes harsh and unsteady. He grits his teeth, dragging his head up so he can see Shiro standing over him.

Their eyes meet. Gold glows from beneath Shiro’s brow. His face is set, hard lines and coldness in his stare. The cold leaches through Keith’s skin, down to the marrow of his bones.

“Give it up.”

Keith bares his teeth. “Never.” He shifts his weight, preparing to stand even though his legs are trembling. “I’ll never give up on you.”

Something sharpens in Shiro’s face. “Fine.” He leans down, curls his hand around the back of Keith’s neck like he’s scruffing a Galran kit.

Electricity explodes behind Keith’s eyes. He screams, body locking, back arching into an impossible curve. Pain overwhelms him, floods through him, burns him from the inside out—

The last thing he sees before blackness is Shiro’s face, emotionless and cold.

* * *

When Keith wakes, he immediately knows he’s on a ship. The hum of the engine rings in his ears, reverberates through his body where he’s sprawled on his side on a hard cot. Keith’s been on ships all his life, scrambling around underfoot, surrounded by smugglers who always had a moment to pet his hair or teach him something about engines.

He breathes in deep. The stale air burns his lungs, but he holds it for five heartbeats before letting it out, slow and quiet. Repeats that again, trying to centre himself.

A deep, lingering pain aches through his entire body. Keith breathes through that, too, anchors himself on the sharpest edge of the pain.

Like Shiro always taught him. Find something to ground himself in the moment, to keep his emotions from flaring up and lashing out. 

Long moments pass, and Keith opens his eyes.

It’s a small ship. He’s in a tiny holding cell, staring out through a staticky red energy field at the back of a pilot’s chair. Shiro.

Through the window of Shiro’s cockpit he sees violet lightning and hundreds of twisters descending from the black stormclouds. Keith reaches out through the Force, feels nothing but the dull echo of terror.

Fuck. He closes his eyes, throat tight. Millions of lives destroyed. Just like that.

Grief rocks him like a bolt of lightning to his core. Those were people he could save—people just like Shiro. People he _failed_.

Tears prickle at his eyes. Keith blinks them away, clenches his hands so tight his knuckles hurt. Concentrate. Calm. Breathe in, hold, and breathe out. His eyes drift shut and he focuses on the swirling pattern of lights against the backs of his eyelids.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re up above the atmosphere. The black void of space stretches out beyond the cockpit, the hazy violet atmosphere just barely visible.

The hum of the engine shifts, then cuts off completely.

Keith’s already pushing himself up when Shiro climbs out of the pilot’s chair. He struggles into a sitting position, muscles burning, gasping for breath through gritted teeth. Shiro comes to a stop just beyond the energy field, the hard angles of his face thrown off and distorted by the flickering red energy.

Standing tall, head held high, Shiro looks more untouchable than he ever has. Even when Keith was his Padawan, Shiro never made him feel small.

“Wh…” It’s barely more than a croak. Keith gathers saliva in his dry mouth and swallows, throat burning. “Ngh—now what?”

For a long moment, Shiro just stares at him. It worms under Keith’s skin, pins him in place, traps his breath in his throat. Then Shiro smiles, slow and wicked. “There’s always been darkness in you, Keith.” He presses his hand to the wall next to Keith’s cell. The wall flickers away and he steps inside, and Keith still can’t move under the weight of his gaze. “Darth Haggar will figure out something to do with you. And if she can’t…” Another step closer, so Keith has to tip his chin up to face him head-on. “Then she can find some way to dispose of you.”

Darth Haggar. Keith doesn’t know if she seduced Shiro to darkness from the start, or if she took advantage of his breakdown—but he _hates_ her. Vicious, deadly desire pulses in him with every heartbeat. He wants her dead. He wants to claw her apart with his bare hands.

A grin flickers over Shiro’s mouth. “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s the Keith I know.”

Keith freezes. His fangs are bared and he didn’t even realize. His mouth snaps shut.

Fuck. He can’t get distracted.

“You don’t have to follow her.” His breath feels strangled. “Come back with me, Shiro. We’ll figure this out.” 

_Come home_ , he wants to say. He can’t force the words out of his tightening throat.

Shiro tips his head to one side, calculating and curious. “I can feel your anger, Keith. You hate the Jedi Order just as much as I do.” He leans down, pressing into Keith’s space. Keith can barely breathe. “All those times they were ready to abandon you, because you weren’t the image of perfection they expected...all your natural talent, and they still don’t trust you.” His gaze sweeps over Keith’s face. “They’re never going to make you a Master. You and I both know it.”

A tiny, blinding flame of something hotter than hatred flickers to life in Keith’s chest. His jaw tightens, fingers clenching and twisting where they’re locked behind his back.

It’s all true. Keith threw everything into his Jedi training; it was all he had, his only chance to be something more worthwhile than an orphan smuggler. And almost everyone just treated him like a bomb ready to go off and wreak havoc on their delicate balance.

He was never Shiro; the perfect image of a Jedi, calm and controlled.

But Shiro was never that either.

“This isn’t about me,” Keith grinds out, something bitter and dangerous whirling around in his chest. He stares up into Shiro’s face—he sees the memory of every time pain flashed across Shiro’s face before he covered it up with a careful mask, every time he would stare up into the stars with something broken in his eyes. “I don’t care what the Order thinks of me.” His breath hitches. “All I care about is you.”

Shiro’s face twitches. A crack in his expression. Then his mouth twists in a scowl. “I’m not your Master anymore. Whoever you think you can save—he’s _dead_.”

Keith shakes his head. “He’s right here,” he says, desperately, pleadingly. “Shiro...Takashi.” Shiro’s eyes widen, and Keith leans towards him, drawn in like gravity. “I love you. Every part.” _Even this one_ goes unsaid. Shiro hears it anyway.

Golden eyes flash wide. Rage twists Shiro’s features, sharp and deadly as he surges down, grabbing Keith’s hair and wrenching his head back. Keith chokes. “ _Don’t_ ,” Shiro spits.

Scalp stinging, eyes watering, Keith stares up at him. “I love you.”

Shiro crashes their mouths together. Keith moans, pressing into the kiss desperately, frantic for the slide of Shiro’s tongue. Teeth dig into his lower lip until his skin cracks open, the coppery taste of blood bursting between their mouths. It’s violent and filthy, Shiro’s teeth grazing his tongue, Shiro’s fingers twisted into Keith’s hair to anchor him exactly where Shiro wants him.

Shiro’s always kissed like a dying man. Keith bites back, surges into it as much as he can to feel the sharp pain across his scalp. Fire burns under his skin, blazing bright in his gut, so bright Keith’s delirious with heat.

Fingers tighten in Keith’s hair. Shiro tears away; Keith’s blood stains the corner of his mouth, his shoulders are heaving, and he looks _wild_.

“Jedi don’t kiss like that,” he snarls, then he latches his teeth around Keith’s jaw and _bites_.

Keith shouts. The sting of broken skin burns under the heat of Shiro’s mouth as he sucks a mark. “ _Shiro_ —” His voice cracks on a desperate groan, fingers curling behind his back. “Shiro—let me touch you.”

A hand clamps high up on Keith’s thigh, huge and hot, and Shiro reaches behind Keith’s back with his metal hand. The cuffs fall away with a click and Keith wastes no time wrapping his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, one hand clutching at his robes and the other threading through his silver hair, holding him in place as Shiro bites and sucks another mark high on the column of his throat.

Desperation makes Keith shake, makes him cling tighter to Shiro and tug his head up for another searing kiss. Shiro’s touch is addictive, humming through Keith’s blood like a drug, buzzing under his skin. He’s drunk on it.

This is wrong—it’s been wrong for years. But with Shiro’s tongue licking into his mouth, Shiro’s hand pressing bruises into the skin of his thigh—Keith doesn’t give a fuck what the _Council_ would think.

“Miss you,” he mumbles against Shiro’s lips, nipping at him. “Please, Shiro—”

Shiro winds a hand around Keith’s long braid and _pulls_. Keith’s voice crumbles into a moan.

It’s as desperate and frantic as the first time they kissed. On one of Keith’s first missions after being Knighted, after a close call where they both almost ended up dead. Keith doesn’t even remember who started it.

Now, Shiro curls big hands around his waist and hauls him effortlessly to his feet, biting painful kisses into Keith’s jaw. He stumbles them across the ship.

All Keith can do is hold on. He kisses bruises into Shiro’s mouth, tells him how much he loves him with lips and tongue and teeth.

Keith’s never been good with words. But this is something he can do.

The backs of his knees hit something hard and he tumbles backwards, stomach swooping up in his throat. His back hits a hard mattress, knocking the air from his lungs.

A half second later Shiro follows him. He smothers Keith with his body, holds him down with their thighs slotted together and his arms braced next to Keith’s head. Keith’s back arches, pulled against Shiro’s body with something stronger than gravity. Electromagnetism keeping an atom together.

Keith doesn’t think about what that means when they separate. He clings to Shiro, grinds up against him, gasps pleas and curses into his mouth. He never wants to leave his side again.

Shiro’s cock is hot and heavy against his even through layers of clothing. Keith hooks a leg around Shiro’s thigh and rolls their hips together, mouth falling open in a breathless grin when Shiro groans low into his throat. 

“Fuck me,” he gasps. Shiro bites just below his jaw and Keith moans, fisting his hands in Shiro’s robes. “C’mon, Shiro. _C’mon_.”

“Oh, baby.” Shiro mouths along Keith’s jaw, drags the tip of his nose up Keith’s cheek. His eyes are glowing pure gold when he stares down, carving deep under Keith’s skin with the weight of his gaze, his grin so sharp and dangerous Keith feels like he’s cutting himself open just looking at it. “I’m going to tear you apart.”

With one last bite to Keith’s neck, Shiro lifts up so he’s hovering just above Keith. His stare pins Keith down, makes him twist and writhe in delirious anticipation. Then he levers himself up and onto his knees. It’s almost something like the Force that makes Keith follow, back arching as he chases the warmth of Shiro’s body against his, propping himself up on his elbows when Shiro’s out of reach.

A smirk tilts Shiro’s mouth. He slips out of his robes and tugs his undershirt up over his shoulders, revealing an expanse of pale, scarred skin beneath.

Keith can’t breathe. Shiro’s beautiful. Broad shoulders and a trim waist, muscle moving beneath his scars. Hands shaking, Keith sweeps his fingertips up Shiro’s stomach, dragging over his ribcage. There’s a starmap of Shiro’s scars in his mind, in the muscle memory of his hands; the one thing Keith knows better than ships is Shiro.

He sweeps his hands up to Shiro’s broad shoulders, down to his arms. Fingertips meet cold metal.

“I’m sorry,” Keith murmurs. He grips the metal, fingernails pressing into the subtle grooves. His own hand looks slender and pale against the dark metal.

Shiro doesn’t say anything. Just pauses, his face indecipherable as he stares down at Keith. His hand spreads wide across Keith’s chest, a gentle weight on his sternum, fingers pressed to Keith’s right collarbone. Exactly where his scar’s hidden beneath his robes.

Quickly, Shiro strips Keith of his robes. Keith bends himself near in half to help Shiro peel off his black undersuit.

Then he’s naked, sprawled beneath Shiro on a stiff mattress covered in rumpled, starchy sheets.

Shiro’s golden gaze sweeps over him like something physical. Fire and electricity trails over Keith’s skin in its wake and he shudders, choking on a breath that feels as thick and hot as blood. 

“Look at you,” Shiro croons. His hands press bruises into Keith’s waist, drag up and over his chest, calluses and the rubbery pads of his cyborg fingers catching on Keith’s scars. Every touch lights Keith’s nerves. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice is soft. Almost reverent. 

Keith’s breath hitches. “Shiro,” he manages, voice rough.

Finally, _finally_ , Shiro leans back over him again, slow and sinuous like a predatory animal. He hovers inches away from Keith’s face, sharing warm breath in the silence.

“Fuck, you’re tempting,” Shiro growls. “I don’t know how I resisted you so long.”

He surges down and licks a kiss into Keith’s mouth. It’s hard and angry and sloppy—Keith thinks he might be drooling, tastes blood and thinks he’s caught Shiro’s lip with his half-Galra fangs—and it’s _perfect_. Keith wraps both arms around Shiro’s waist, writhes and twists and revels in the warmth of sweat-slick skin moving against his own.

Keith’s cock grinds against Shiro’s stomach and he keens, head falling back. His cock throbs blood-hot with every heartbeat, twitching against his own stomach.

“Tell me,” Shiro gasps against Keith’s throat, teeth dragging over the delicate skin. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Well. That’s easy. Keith hooks both legs around Shiro’s hips, grinds their cocks together, tugs Shiro up by the hair until his mouth is at Shiro’s ear. “ _Fuck me_ ,” he snarls, then bites into the soft skin beneath Shiro’s ear until he tastes blood.

Shiro’s hips roll in a filthy downward grind and stars burst at the base of Keith’s spine. “Fuck.” He mouths at the scar on Keith’s jaw, bites his chin and his lower lip. “Give me a second, okay?”

He pulls away, sitting back on his knees again. Keith stares at him, flushed and panting, teeth digging into his already bloody lower lip as Shiro climbs off the bed.

Without Shiro’s body weight holding him down, Keith feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. It’s a relief when Shiro returns only a minute later with some kind of lotion, falling onto Keith and rolling their hips together with a grin, slotting their mouths together for another filthy kiss. Keith grips at his waist and gives back as good as he’s getting.

But Keith’s done waiting. “Give me that.” He grapples blindly for Shiro’s hand where it’s braced above his head, slipping the little bottle from his grip.

Shiro makes a choked-off sound into Keith’s mouth. “Really…?”

Keith doesn’t bother answering. Doesn’t need to. He pops the bottle open and covers his fingers, then reaches down between his thighs.

He slips one finger in. A jolt rocks his entire body, makes him whine through his teeth and arch his back on the sweat-soaked bedsheets. “Fu- _uck_ ,” he stutters.

Shiro leans up just enough to look him in the eyes. Pins Keith in place with that alone, with the crook of his grin and the wildness in his eyes. “You are something else,” he murmurs, “you’re amazing,” and the praise shoots straight to Keith’s cock. He keens, crooking his finger to rub against his prostate, sending shocks of pleasure through his nerves like lightning.

“Kiss me,” Keith demands, and Shiro swallows his moan when he shoves in a second finger.

Keith doesn’t spend much time with prep. He gasps into Shiro’s mouth, curls his fingers and spreads them wide, relishing in the slight stretch. He wants more. He wants to burn up from the inside out. He wants to feel this afterward, for as long as he can.

(He doesn’t know what’s going to happen after this. Whether he’ll ever have this again.)

“Okay.” A moan slips through his teeth when he pulls his fingers out. He shoves Shiro’s pants down and fists a hand around his blood-hot cock, spreading the rest of the lotion. Shiro’s hips twitch, his moan muffled into Keith’s neck. “I’m good, Shiro. I’m ready.”

Shiro doesn’t ask if he’s sure. He stuffs a pillow beneath Keith’s ass then reaches down between them, his other hand petting over Keith’s mess of hair, and suddenly the head of his cock is a hot, heavy pressure against Keith’s hole.

Keith shifts his hips. Spreads his legs. Then Shiro pushes _in_ , and they both groan low and strangled into the silence.

“ _Fuck_ , Keith.” Shiro rolls his hips forward in tiny little thrusts, spearing Keith open inch by devastating inch. “You feel incredible, you’re so—”

His hips meet Keith’s ass. Keith chokes on a moan, gasping shallow breaths, thighs trembling around Shiro’s hips. He’s so _full_ , overwhelmed with it, stuffed full of Shiro’s cock and blanketed by the broad strength of his body.

Fingers digging into the sweat-damp skin of Shiro’s back, Keith arches his back and rolls his hips. Electric pleasure shoots up his spine. His head tips back, lashes fluttering, breath stuttering. 

“Move,” he says breathlessly.

Shiro kisses his lower lip, soft and sweet. The intimacy hurts like an echo deep in Keith’s chest.

Shiro draws his hips back, holds a perfect stillness that stirs up a wildfire just under Keith’s skin—and then slides back home in one long, smooth thrust. His first few thrusts are like that. Tentative and careful, like he’s relearning Keith’s body. It’s agonizing, paralyzing, knocking loose shaky breaths from Keith’s lungs.

Then he starts fucking Keith properly. Hard and vicious, biting at Keith’s throat. Keith shouts, wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and winds his fingers into Shiro’s hair, holding on desperately as his body shakes apart.

It’s too much all at once—too hard, too violent, fucking the air from Keith’s lungs—and Keith’s dizzy with how fucking perfect it is.

“ _Shiro_ ,” he gasps, meeting every thrust, clenching down just to feel the ache. “Shiro, Shiro—” 

“You’re _mine_ ,” Shiro snarls. His teeth dig into Keith’s collarbone, stinging as he breaks skin. He gets a hand between them, presses his palm down on Keith’s belly until he wheezes. It _hurts_ , makes him writhe, makes him wonder if Shiro can feel the bulge of his own cock in Keith’s slender frame—

“Yours,” he hisses. “Always, Shiro, always have been.”

Shiro kisses him. _Ruins_ him with his tongue and teeth, until Keith’s a broken, panting mess beneath him. “I know.” Another kiss. Softer, less teeth. Soothing the wildfire in Keith’s belly and stoking it even brighter. “I know, baby.”

Keith forces his own eyes open just to see Shiro’s. They’re wide and bright and so full of emotion Keith’s heart almost bursts. Beyond the vicious gold he can see dark gunmetal grey, a tiny ring on the outside edge of his irises.

With trembling hands, Keith reaches up. He traces his fingertips over Shiro’s scar, cups Shiro’s strong jaw in his callused palms.

When he tugs Shiro down into a kiss, it cracks something open in his chest. He pours everything he can into the kiss—every promise, every hope, everything left unsaid.

Shiro kisses like he’s trying to say it all back.

He grips Keith’s thigh with the metal hand. Pain blooms in his grip as he hitches Keith’s thigh up, bends it forward until Keith’s hip screams in protest. 

Then he thrusts again, and sparks explode behind Keith’s eyes. The new angle is so perfect it hurts and Keith’s arousal builds, threatening to burst like a star about to go supernova.

“That’s it,” Shiro murmurs against his mouth. “That’s it, c’mon, Keith…”

Keith falls over the edge. Pleasure floods his body. Melts his mind into nothing beyond the electrifying drag of Shiro’s dick inside him, the overwhelming fullness, the heat coursing through him like a burning sun. He digs his fingers into the nape of Shiro’s neck and shudders through his orgasm.

Shiro presses a sloppy kiss to Keith’s jaw. His rhythm’s stuttering, heartbeat pounding beneath Keith’s fingers. He follows Keith over the edge a few aborted thrusts later, spilling warmth deep inside, groaning into the scar he slashed into Keith’s shoulder.

Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck. Clings so tight it hurts. His throat’s almost too thick to breathe.

They’re both still shaking when Shiro pulls out. He drops a kiss to Keith’s cheek, to Keith’s hair. He arranges them so they’re both on their sides, facing the wall next to his bed, his flesh arm wrapped around Keith’s waist, hand splayed up over Keith’s heart.

In the afterglow, the stale air of Shiro’s ship is cold against his sweat-damp skin.

The pleasure’s fading, and all Keith’s left with is exhaustion. He heaves down warm breaths, tasting sex and sweat. Shiro is a huge, warm line up his back, flooding Keith’s senses. Feels like every nerve in his body is tuned to Shiro. The way it always was, before—

Before everything fell apart.

Fuck.

The silence lasts a long while. Keith listens to his own heartbeat, listens to Shiro’s breathing, listens to the low hum of the ship as it floats in orbit around a devastated planet.

Warm lips brush the scar on Keith’s shoulder. “Join me, Keith,” Shiro murmurs, and Keith’s stomach twists painfully. Shiro’s voice is hypnotic. “We won’t have to hide. We can be together, and nobody will ever tear us apart.” His teeth graze the scar, Keith’s nerves sparking. “We’ll kill anyone who tries.”

Silence follows. Heavy, suffocating silence.

Keith can’t say no to Shiro. But he can’t say yes to this.

So he says nothing at all. He folds his hand over Shiro’s where it rests on his chest, slots their fingers together and squeezes. Shiro is big and broad, holding Keith in place, holding Keith inside his own aching body. He’s holding Keith like something precious, and that’s enough.

Later, Keith will escape Shiro’s captivity, or Shiro will let him go. Keith’ll go back to an Order he barely believes in and Shiro will go back to a Master who’s twisted him into every dark, terrifying impulse he’s ever had. Maybe they’ll meet again. Maybe they’ll kill each other eventually.

For now, this is enough.

It’s all they can have.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading 🖤 please leave kudos and comment if you enjoyed! and feel free to follow me [@magpiecastiel](https://twitter.com/magpiecastiel) if you want!
> 
> may the fourth be with you 😌


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